springtime

spring is coming ... right?

happy easter!

new post, new nephew

the latest in the ever growing list of loves of my life...

happy spring!

Adding Insult to Injury - The Plus One Conundrum

This summer I have been graciously invited to attend a dear friend's wedding. My first crush, and as I have said about many of the crew with which I was privileged enough to grow up with, one of the best people on the planet. I have known this man most of my life and I love him enough to travel cross country to witness his nuptials with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

Whenever I receive a wedding invitation via the US Postal service and am invited to share in a loved one's special day, I am touched. I am far less touched when checking off my chicken or fish choice and I see there is no spot for the proverbial +1. In my younger days, when I knew everyone at the wedding or the understandable budgetary constraints made far more sense it was slightly less offensive. But as an adult in my 30s with a career and some semblance of decorum (I said some) I am baffled. As a single woman the immediate thought of those to whom I vent about this frustration is that it is far less about the escort of varying importance seated next to me at the polyester clad circular table for the evening and more about my quest to find my own 'one' and, in turn, give birth to the most beautiful biracial baby this side of the Mississippi. Perhaps there is a dollop of that frustration, but it is merely an optional condiment on an otherwise very real affront sundae.

Being from anywhere USA most of my friends partnered off early and those who are doing so now are the remaining few. This means, an implicit +1 on your dance card for life - and I respect that. My irritation lies within the fact that because I am single and have for one reason or another not taken vows with a member of the opposite (or same, depending on the state in which you reside) sex I am forced to dine on overcooked meat and listen to KC and the Sunshine band alone.

At 32, there is no longer a singles table at which the open bar allows for flirtatious chatter and inevitable questionable choices. This means, I am essentially at the kids table.

In the adult world it would seem that being single somehow equates to being a child, or being a cripple.

If I had a car, I am sure I would have a state issued placard dangling discreetly from my rear view allowing everyone who passes by to know that I am somehow so deeply flawed that no one wants to share a mortgage and menopause with me and therefore, I am destined to a life of peasantries with strangers and small talk with people who I don't give a rats ass about on the shellacked wedding dance floor of life.

Don't get me wrong - I am aware I can RSVP no thanks - but somehow that is cutting off my nose to spite my face because, though I think it is rude and thoughtless to not allow someone out of wedlock to essentially 'bring a friend' or better yet a significant other of clearly lacking significance in the eyes of the lord, I do want to share in the special days of loved ones and I am truly happy they have found what it is they are looking for and are able to celebrate in a public and celebratory manner.

Please believe me when I say these are not the ramblings of a bitter woman, but the stream of consciousness of someone who thinks too much and attends many-a-wedding. It just seems to be, that at this point in life, we are grown and if you need me to send a personal check for the $50 required to feed yet another face overpriced cafeteria food, as opposed to spending an otherwise lovely afternoon gazing at the happy couple while idly chatting the day away with your great Aunt Susan -sign me up!

damien at caroline's

a very talented comedian and sometimes subject is not only headlining at caroline's in new york city, but is also promoting doing so with a photo by yours truly. get tickets and maybe he and i will get shoot #3 underway soon..

congrats, damien!

beheard x soa x vietnam

Always happy to contribute to SOA Life, today they are running a brief write up on the cuisine I experienced while in Vietnam. Check it out!

LREI 2014 Art Auction

 I have been fortunate enough to have worked for and been associated with LREI, a unique and fantastic private school in Manhattan, for a number of years now, thanks to the lovely and talented Laura Hahn. I participated in their art auction 2 years ago, selling a photograph I took in Bogata, Columbia.

This year I have donated two pieces shot in New Orleans, Louisiana, to be sold in tandem and titled  'Americana Diptych.'

The show is March 12th.
Register to attend (and bid) at LREI!

Goodnight, Saigon...

My final morning in Vietnam was neither eventful or special. Though it was warm. I rose as my leisure and reluctantly went for a morning run, this time employing the park-provided exercise equipment all of the senior citizens seem to utilize during the early morning hours. I believe there is a way to utilize muscle groups when on these machines, but what I've witnessed looks more like flipping about that engaging one's octogenarian core.

The morning was still cool and I went to get some fresh fruit and croissant before heading back to Budget Hostel 2 to properly bathe and prepare for the long journey ahead of me. Knowing my flight was at the crack of dawn on the 13th, I had not bothered to book accommodation for the night of the 12th, and planned on crashing at the Saigon airport - something that, for anyone who knows how I travel, comes a no surprise. Cheap and resourceful - that's me!

Hair washed and braided, new psychedelic leggings purchased in Hanoi painted on and I went out into the increasingly balmy sun for a manicure/pedicure that I told myself I would indulge in before returning to the states. Having last addressed my feet in 2013, I felt it was long overdue.

Receiving perhaps the best and most silently relaxing pedicure I have ever received I was feeling like a new woman. I stepped out on the street feeling clean and almost human. 30 feet down the road, however, I moved to put my phone on my camera bag and dinged a nail. In a haste to correct it, I only made the issue worse and had to face facts that my beautiful manicure was only meant to last a matter of moments. Any woman who has ever gone through the trouble and expense of this sort of attempt at beautification no doubt knows my frustration with this trivial detail.

Oh well. C'est la vie - a motto I find much more comfortable to abide by when not on my home turf. It was lunchtime and with this being my last day in Asia till lord knows when I was determined to eat well, and eat authentically. Pho 24 was just around the corner from the main market and the locals could be heard slurping down slimy noodles from around the block - so that's where I went.

A bowl of Pho Ga was ordered in Vietnamese for the fist time and, my chest puffed with pride at my daring and, I thought successful feat. The victory was short lived and chest almost immediately deflated almost as the polite woman taking my order responded in unimpressed English. Boo!

The chicken mixed fresh basil and spicy red peppers made this dish well worth the price tag and I have come to the conclusion that I could pretty much eat raw bean sprouts at every meal. Bright pink watermelon juice sat loyally by my bowl as I spooned up the broth a and attempted to have an international phone call with my Bestie.

Having spent the last three and a half weeks here I knew that the time that comes in every woman's life every 28 days or so was on it's way and it was only a matter of time before I was exhausted, hungry and on the verge of tears - though that does sound an awful lot like every day for me! 

Deciding to take the suggestion of a virtual stranger/new friend - something I only do on the rarest of occasions - I hired yet another motorbike driver and road 20 minutes out of the city center to Van Trahn, described as a Tourist Complex, but much more closely resembling a high-end suburban swim an racquet club. Not my speed, I will admit, but with my current state of exhaustion there were certainly things that sounded far worse than laying in the sun.

40,000 dong to take a dip and occupy a chair kept me 'busy' for the late afternoon hours, but before long it was time to take my now chlorine drenched body back to my belongings and make a plan - at least give plan-making my Pat Benetar best shot. Without any sign of a motorbike out in district lord knows where, I was forced to take a proper cab, during rush hour, allowing me the opportunity to see uniformed children exiting school for the day as well as begin to silently stew over all of the sadness that so easily rises to the surface of my deeply Irish psyche, like the curds of freshly turned milk, when in the 'real world.' I am not saying I have not had my good and bad moments while in Asia, but something about that quiet cab ride let me know that in a day's time I would be back in the cold, in more than one way.

Nevermind all of that business. Back in my 'hood' I was on the hunt for food, feeling weary from all of the over self analyzation and thinking about life in general. For some reason when I am on the hunt for food, there seems to be no prey to find. I picked up some Choco Pies at the circle K to take back home with me and share one of my travel traditions, of sampling a new cookie or candy from a foreign place with a dear friend. I ended up at restaurant 48 (not sure why all dining establishments are numbered here) , a very posh and very westernizwd establishment that not only gave me the silky smooth instrumentals stylings of Phil Collins - but Debbie Gibson - with lyrics! I mean - what else does a girl need?!?

Clay pot chicken and rice, which literally just means those ingredients are served in that device and in no way indicates it's cooking method, and 2 lime juices later, I had a pricey bill, a full tummy and only a couple hours to go before hitting the hay, and by hitting the hay I mean awkwardly sleeping on my backpack in a cold and abandoned airport. I am just hoping the Vietnamese authorities have no issues with my jammies.

Back at the hostel I packed my newly acquired Haribo and struck up a conversation with Paul, an English teacher living here by way of Liverpool and quite possibly a reoccurring character from 'The Young Ones,' a BBC classic and personal favorite. I had to give myself momentary credit for immediately picking up on the Liverpudlian accent, but I suppose that credit is really more appropriately attributed to 4 lads who made it big in America from around that way.

Paul mentioned he was going out and invited me along so, after booking and paying for my 11:30 pm taxi to the airport for my 5 am flight, I hopped on the back of Paul's motorbike, which he drove with Saigonian sensibility, and headed out to an open air barbecue spot that is clearly a local hangout, with only Vietnamese drinking buddies with wire-rimmed glasses and cocktail waitresses in micro mini Budweiser emblazoned dresses present. Well, that if if you don't count two Brits and an American trying her first local Saigon Bia. 

The boys, both Paul and his BFF Glen were jovial, sweet and generous. Paul commented on my 'bohemian style of dress' and I couldn't help but smile as, just a couple of weeks earlier, I had been called conservative. Perhaps I am the Sybil for the 21st Century. Though I suspect if I had accepted regret would have immediately have set in, an impromptu marriage proposal over a beer and stir fried vegetable is always a pleasant surprise and a great way to wind down a trip. Despite the repeated suggestion that I reschedule my cab, I stuck to the plan and was driven back to the hostel to meet my waiting taxi cab.

The night was warm and sultry, making the bronzed skin on my shoulders glisten in the neon lit night. The midnight streets of Saigon were empty, but not lonely and I believe I could have lived the rest of my life, happily perched upon the back of that bike. I tried my best to absorb every last moment of my time here in Vietnam knowing the sands were running through the hour glass of time at lightening speed. It was literally the perfect way to say Goodnight, Saigon.

Which leaves me here, homeless and draped upon my worldly possessions at the Saigon International Airport. Knowing well what I had in store for me when opting for airport accommodation for the evening, there is one variable that had not occurred to me - what if the airport seating is strictly outdoor? And outdoor it was! Wearing all possible layers of wardrobe tucked within my trusty rucksack, I am left here, chilly and waiting for hours while watching families, uncertain whether they are coming or going, doing their best impression of a documentary crew shooting a behind-the-scenes film for One Direction. I mean, seriously - I realize there is a language barrier but minutes upon minutes of video and stills were shot and from what I can surmise all that is taking place is banal conversation amongst friends and family either about to board or just having had arrived at SGN who all seem to think their entire existence is one big Hallmark moment. I had been told they don't fly much - but still. I mean, come on...

27 hours, several screaming children and many bags of candy later I arrived, safe and sound in New York, just having slid under the Polar Vortex radar and instead of being diverted to another airport, instead was just met with cold winds and white snow. With only my tan, a couple of pairs of earrings and a yet unedited card filled with photos to show for it, I can say with all of the confidence in the world my time spent in Vietnam was worth every tear, every moment and every penny.